War.
Umbrellas at bus stands.
Cars. Toys. Brands. Roses.
Fire.
A landmark before a bend in the road.
Plastic chair with tattered cushion.
A cell phone advertisement.
Scarf hanging in the window.
Fear.
Fabric.
Doors.
Love.
A flag bearing a sickle and a star.
Port wine and pomegranate.
A cross that symbolizes resources.
The soles on the feet of a child; gravel and dreams.
The best kind of onions.
Busses with loud horns like ice creams trucks.
Candy wrappers in empty wastebaskets.
Spices spilled on the counter.
Asia.
My favorite T-shirt that she wears.
Meat under flies.
The Devil.
Beads swinging from slender collars.
British Broadcasting Corporation.
They mix it with bulls and vodka.
Sashes draped on teenagers armed with guns and smiles.
The flowers growing on garbage veiled with dirt.
Romance.
Carpets.
Bricks.
Anger.
Soil torn from mountains by mining machines.
A seething mosquito caught mid-crime.
Bundles of chilies tied off with twine.
Eyeballs striped with irritated arteries; thinking and drinking.
Yesterday.
Hearts of fathers who are unable to save them.
Lipstick. Nail Polish. Pumps. Panties.
Blood.
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